” “We will,” said Miss Miniver, refusing to be suppressed, “if some of us have to be killed to get it. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. It was not a hopeful looking group. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. Wood as a play-room to the two boys; and, like most boy's playrooms, it exhibited a total absence of order, or neatness. “I’d chuck this lark right off if I were you, Vee,” he said. ‘Here she is. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. Was there ever such madness?” “I am afraid that I don’t understand,” Ennison answered.
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